You, 17, had your baby six months ago now and it’s been difficult. Her father is absent other than the occasional text message, and your family though helpful are judgemental. But at least you have a place to live with them.

Now, you push your happy baby down the street of your Manchester estate, in her pram, her eyes wide as she takes in the world around her. The occasional person looking over in ever disgust of your situation or adoration of the near bald little baby.

Your heart stops, once again you spot him. Smoking as he lounges upon a tatty sofa in his overgrown front garden. His clothes are large and ripped and his hair a messy dark blonde.